The Way I Loved You
by whimsycality
Summary: Liz begins her relationship with Max while consumed with regret over her actual first love. AU season one. Dreamer with Polar references.


**A/N: **So here's another Dreamer ficlet with Polar references (much more heavily than Fall For Anything). This one's definitely AU, you can either go with Liz and Michael having a relationship pre series, or that this exists in an entirely different universe. Also, less angsty than the previous two, not no angst, god forbid my muse do that at the moment, but less. The song is by Taylor Swift. Part of my Universal Language series.

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><p><em><strong>The Way I Loved You<strong>_

_He is sensible and so incredible_

_And all my single friends are jealous_

_He says everything I need to hear and it's like_

_I couldn't ask for anything better_

_He opens up my door and I get into his car_

_And he says you look beautiful tonight_

_And I feel perfectly fine_

I smile and feel a blush taint my cheeks with pervasive pink as he hands me the bouquet of flowers, bashfully lowering his head and staring at his feet as he stammers out that they made him think of me. They smell sweet, as sweet as the gesture and matching blush on his cheeks when he finally meets my gaze again, and one lone butterfly shifts in my stomach as I clumsily fill a vase with water and set them aside before picking up my purse and looking at him expectantly.

He offers me his arm and guides me to the door, then down the sidewalk to the jeep, which of course he opens, and politely holds until I'm safely inside, his hand lingering on mine for just a moment before he closes it once all of my limbs are free and clear. He jogs to his side of the vehicle, sliding in hastily and pushing the keys into the ignition with anxious haste, before pausing and turning to look at me, looking nervous and hopeful and utterly charming as he gently brushes a stray piece of hair out of my face and whispers "You're beautiful, Liz."

I blush again and mutter a thank you, staring down at the hands folded in my lap as he smiles and turn away, starting the engine and beginning the three block drive to Senor Chows, the only date-like restaurant in town, or at least, the only one he would take me to. The evening is off to a sweet and romantic start and I smile, even though the lone butterfly has long since stopped trying.

_But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain_

_And it's two am and I'm cursing your name_

_You're so in love that you act insane_

_And that's the way I loved you_

_Breakin' down and coming undone_

_It's a roller coaster kinda rush_

_And I never knew I could feel that much_

_And that's the way I loved you_

Because the butterfly knows that he isn't you, and that despite what people think and say, I'm not all that fond of sweet and romantic – and it's all your fault. You're the one who turned me into this creature who craves passion, or at least the one who unleashed that side of me; knowing my Grandmother it's likely that it had been there, hiding, all along. You're the one who taught me the joys of being rough instead of gentle, sexy instead of sweet, and you're the one who taught me that love isn't romance, that love is achingly hard and real and all consuming, and has absolutely nothing to do with doors and flowers and dates.

No one's ever inspired me to anger the way you used to, one smirk and casually worded statement enough to send me over the edge, ranting in a way that would have quite shocked the 'Perfect Parker' fan-club. And no one but you has ever shown me such creative ways to use that anger, to redirect it into something involving lips and teeth and bruises that don't come from pain, but from gripping too hard while we kiss against your bedroom door.

Rain starts to fall, one of those freak summer storms that flash through the desert, as he opens my door and shepherds me inside the restaurant, holding his coat over my head so I don't get wet. He doesn't notice when I shift so that it doesn't cover me, and raise my face to the deluge of warm water, tasting the salt and liquid desert air as drops land on my outstretched tongue. He apologizes once we're inside and he sees that my dress and hair are wet, and doesn't notice that some of the water stinging my cheeks isn't from the sky.

You're the one who taught me to love the rain, when our impromptu picnic, the one I painstakingly made for you in the Crashdown kitchen while Jose cursed and ranted about invasion, was ruined by a flash storm just like this one, and instead of being upset or trying to cover up, you started to laugh, pulled me to my feet, and kissed me until I couldn't breathe. You always were a little insane.

_He respects my space_

_And never makes me wait_

_And he calls exactly when he says he will_

_He's close to my mother_

_Talks business with my father_

_He's charming and endearing_

_And I'm comfortable_

The date goes well. Dinner is delicious and he's an excellent conversationalist, always light, always complimentary, just funny enough to make me smile and occasionally chuckle, but not enough to make me laugh until my fingers tingle from lack of oxygen. We flirt over the pool table and he gets a little closer when he shows me how to shoot, although his hands never linger too long, and certainly never wander anywhere inappropriate, even though I'm not exactly unwilling. It's perfectly timed and he helps me into my coat a good thirty minutes before the restaurant closes, holding my hand as we back to the car under the suddenly clear sky, stars shining brightly overhead.

I miss the rain.

He kisses me gently on the doorstep, a light brushing of lips that makes me sigh, although I'm not sure what emotion is expressed by the soft exhalation of breath. My father gives him a knowing smile when he opens the door and my mother looks both reproving and pleased and for a brief moment, I wonder what their reaction would have been if it had been you on the doorstep, kissing their daughter, their oh-so-perfect daughter, instead of my equally perfect lab partner.

I don't think they would have liked it. I don't think my father's grudging tolerance to the idea of me growing up would have extended so far, and I think my mother's frequent talks about waiting and taking things slow would have had a decidedly different tone. I also don't think I would have cared, but then, you never gave me that chance did you? So I smile and blush and brush a kiss against his cheek, promising to meet him downstairs for breakfast in the morning, and let my parents think that my distant smile and unfocused gaze are because of him and the perfect evening we just spent together.

_But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain_

_And it's two am and I'm cursing your name_

_You're so in love that you act insane_

_And that's the way I loved you_

_Breakin' down and coming undone_

_It's a roller coaster kinda rush_

_And I never knew I could feel that much_

_And that's the way I love you_

When my bedroom door closes behind me, I'm suddenly furious, and I bite my lip to hold back my scream, my nails digging into my palm as I fight the urge to break things, to watch them shatter the way I shattered when you walked away. I haven't raised my voice even once since that day. I haven't been angry, I haven't fought or cursed, I haven't been the passionate person that only you know I can be. Instead I smile and nod and I'm sweet and cheerful and everything everyone else knows I am.

I allow myself one burst of emotion, or maybe I'm just not as in control as I think I am, and I slam my palm against the rough brick wall of my balcony, skin scraping painfully as blood wells up and I blink back tears. It hurts. Not my hand, although I'm sure I'll feel that pain in the morning, but the knowledge that I'll never be that person again, not without you.

We had fought before, the whole thing started with a fight so that's almost a given. But our anger never ran deep, our words were never vicious, and our eyes, our eyes always told the truth – that we only fought because sometimes you can't let out feelings so intense any other way. But that day, that day you were cold and empty and utterly not you and I haven't stopped missing you, the real you, ever since.

_He can't see the smile I'm faking_

_And my heart's not breaking_

_Cause I'm not feeling anything at all_

_And you were wild and crazy_

_Just so frustrating, intoxicating_

_Complicated, got away by some mistake and now_

We have breakfast in the morning, he sits across from me in the booth and our feet sometimes brush against each other, always eliciting a blush from one or both of us. I wonder when exactly I learned how to fake a blush, and what the scientific principle is behind forcing blood into your cheeks. I choose not to wonder about the moral implications; deception never was difficult for me, even when I wanted it to be.

He doesn't eat his bacon and I remember the way you always used to steal mine when I'd bring it to our rendezvous on the days I was running late. I put pepper but no salt on my eggs and he gives me a brief odd look that I pretend not to see, fighting down memories of the one time you made me breakfast, standing in Hank's rickety trailer while he slept unconscious on the bathroom floor.

We weren't easy. We didn't blush when our hands met as we both reached for the butter. Your hair didn't fall endearingly into your eyes when you looked at me – usually it was standing straight up because you ran your hands through it whenever you were frustrated, which was often. We were complicated and intense, just like you. And now, now I have easy and sweet and empty and it _aches_.

_I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain_

_It's two am and I'm cursing your name_

_I'm so in love that I acted insane_

_And that's the way I loved you_

_Breakin' down and coming undone_

_It's a roller coaster kinda rush_

_And I never knew that I could feel that much_

_And that's the way I loved you, oh, oh_

It's two in the morning and I'm standing on my balcony, glaring at the sky because it stubbornly refuses to rain, because it hasn't rained once since the date, and because it's easier to remember you, to forget him, when I feel the rain on my skin. I like to imagine that you think of me too, that when those immense clouds roll across the sky and the rain sheets down before disappearing again minutes later, that you too glare at the sky and curse yourself for letting me go, the way I curse myself for letting you walk away.

I miss the way your eyes burned when you were angry, and the way they melted when you looked at me _that _way. I miss how intense you got when you really believed something, and how over-the-top casual you were when you didn't want me to know your real opinion. I miss the taste of your lips, of the way the rain tasted on your skin, so much better than it does without you, just salty water more bitter than tears.

I didn't live before you, not the way I should have, and without you I can't bring myself to care. I know Grandma Claudia would be disappointed with me. I'm not following my heart, even though everyone from Maria up to my parents thinks that I finally am. They don't know the truth. They don't know that you _are _my heart, and that any love but the one I felt for you is merely a pale imitation.

I hate myself for giving up so easily; on you and on life. I hate you for teaching me how to live and then walking away. I hate that even now I'm lying to myself because I will never hate you, not the way I loved you.

_And that's the way I loved you, oh, oh_

_Never knew I could feel that much_

_And that's the way I loved you_


End file.
